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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253387">Am I Real?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zappy/pseuds/Zappy'>Zappy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Crimson Spade [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:36:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zappy/pseuds/Zappy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up from "The Incident" to find he has very many questions, and oh so few answers. He does however find one. And it might be the only answer that matters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Crimson Spade [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/524329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Am I Real?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh look, this isn't dead! I've just been....distracted. Anyway, I've been thinking about what exactly went on between Hood falling into the vat of acid and then shaking Batman's hand two months later, and now you all know! Well, know as much as Hood does anyway!</p>
<p>(I have more answers of course, but you'll have to wait for that.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Earth 696- Gotham City, The Underground</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of incessant beeping woke him. His body screamed in agony at even the squeeze of his eyes, and he started to let out a moan of pain that was cut off with the feeling of liquid in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t try to talk, you’ve got some serious burns in your throat, you’ll just drown in your own blood and ruin all of my work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With monumental effort and no little amount of ignoring the pain, he opened his eyes. The light wasn’t terribly bright like from a hospital, but those were definitely some sort of machines hooked up to him making that racket. And there was a man standing to his side, holding a clipboard and pen and looking completely uninterested. He was balding a bit, dressed nicely with a white lab coat over it all. He certainly looked like a doctor. But there was something about his eyes...the look on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just what did you think you were doing, taking a swim in acid?” When he opened his mouth to answer that question with one of his own, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what acid?</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the man cut him off. “That was rhetorical, son. I just told you not to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Son? Was this man his father? That didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right. Everything was so fuzzy, like there was a big blanket between him and the rest of the world. Or like he was swimming. The doctor said something about taking a swim right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to take the confused look on your face as a question on why you can’t think straight. You’re high. I had to give you the really good stuff because of all the damage to your tissue. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d wake up. It’s too soon to see how much you’ll heal, so for now get some rest. And don’t try to move, you’ll only reopen everything and make me have to change all the gauze.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He only just woke up, why should he go back to sleep? Though the doctor made a compelling argument, everything felt like it was ready to burst into flames...maybe rest was a good idea. No sooner had he thought about closing his eyes, than the world went black once more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next time he woke, the doctor looked more interested. Or at least, he thought it was the next time. Days seemed to flow into each other, and his dreams were foggy, he couldn’t sort what had happened and what hadn’t. He couldn’t seem to remember much, but his throat felt a little better. He could wheeze through it without choking on his own blood which was a plus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You might be able to speak a few words now, so let’s see if we can get some answers I can report, hm?” The doctor said as he was busy unwinding soiled gauze from around his throat and face. The man paused once, staring at him, before continuing like he’d never stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After he was done, he stood back and waited. It was a bit intimidating, trying to think of something to say. There was one burning question in his mind that begged to be spoken, and he thought there was no reason not to start with that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor seemed surprised. He scoffed and scratched at his stubble before answering. “Course you’re real. You in pain, ain’t ya?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded as much as he was able, and even that small motion gave truth to the claim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you go. Pain only happens in reality, so you’re real.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pain only happens in reality</span>
  </em>
  <span>… He thought about that. The words echoed in him. So long as he knew pain, he knew he was real. There was more the doctor said, questions he asked that he didn’t have the answers for. He couldn’t recall anything, not clearly anyway. Everything felt like it was a dream. It wasn’t long before reality faded again to black.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was weeks, he would later find, that he was in the care of the doctor. Names weren’t used, so he took to thinking about the man as Doc. Doc was gruff and harsh and didn’t like it when he asked questions. Didn’t like that he didn’t know the answers. But he helped, and he healed, and gave him the really good drugs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There came a point, where he almost just let everything happen. He still felt like he was floating, or sinking maybe, in water. He could move his hands and arms without screaming pain, and his voice was getting less raspy, less ragged, though he couldn’t say for sure if it sounded the same as before, since he couldn’t recall what </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>sounded like. His mind would drift along with his body, and he’d catch himself moving his fingers in a way that took the Doc to explain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It looks like you’re playing the piano when you do that. Do you know how?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did he? He didn’t know for certain but...it could be true. He shrugged. Doc huffed but got back to changing his IV. Doc asked personal questions a lot, and he was starting to realize that it was...weird that he didn’t have answers to them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t even know what his name was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, he woke when Doc wasn’t around. After a while, he could get up if he moved slowly, so he started to explore. The place he was at was certainly not a hospital, the hallway was filthy, and the lights flickered. There was also a severe lack of nurses running around. He wondered if that meant he could get out of a huge medical bill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He certainly didn’t have much cash on him, the ruined clothes he found in a bin that he remembered wearing only had a destroyed Nokia cell phone, some soggy paper he thinks might’ve been twenty dollar bills, and an ID card that had so many acid holes and was faded to the point that he couldn’t read anything on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The oddest thing in the bin of his ruined clothes, was the scratched up canister. He didn’t know what possessed him to put it on his head, but the second he had, flashes of memory grip him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>                “The robber goes down, pounced on by the Gargoyle. The beast turns its gaze on him and his muscles freeze up. His blood is on fire and he feels so alive, which he thinks is strange for a situation he’s positive will end in his death. It’s not until the creature makes a move towards him that his body kicks into motion again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>                “Wait!” he shouts, knowing full well that it’s stupid to try to convince the Gargoyle to not eat him. “This is just a misunderstanding-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>                He steps back on his cape and he’s too focused on the Gargoyle to catch himself. His back tumbles into the railing behind him. Turning his head the barest amount he notices the rusty nails that are all that separates him from where he is and the vats below. The nails give out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>                Air whooshes past him, his over large cape pressing into him and making him feel like he’s tangled in sheets. His vision clears for a moment and he has just enough time to realize that there’s a black gloved hand reaching for him, not claws.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>It’s a man!</span>
  <em>
    <span> He thinks to himself, noticing the distressed look on said man’s face before-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>                He falls into the chemicals. His skin is on fire; his bones feel like there are a thousand volts running through them, his lungs feel like gravel and everything is so heavy. He doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down and it feels like he’s lost in a black hole.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a gasp he tosses the helmet off his head, breathing ragged through his damaged throat. His hands are shaking, his blood is singing, his heart is pounding and the only thought in his head is that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembered </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. The Gargoyle, no not Gargoyle, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The man who tried to save him from falling. Who reached out his hand…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze landed on the helmet again. What had he been doing…? Slowly he looks through the bin again, and finds the tattered remains of the red cape. He’d been...trying to stop a break in. He was...a hero. Maybe?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s the most I can do for you. The rest will just take time to heal.” Doc tells him many days later, “Probably.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>Prob</em>ably?” His voice is stronger than it was, but still scratches and catches on sounds. “What do ya mean, probably?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doc sighs and taps his knuckles on the clipboard. “Well, the damage to your epidermal tissue seems to be...permanent. It’s not faded at all, even though the top layer of your skin that was most affected should’ve flaked off by now. Then there’s your hair. I honestly don’t know how to explain that, and I’m not being paid enough to try. What I can tell you is that the damage done to your lungs and throat seems to be healing, but I would keep your mouth shut as much as you can to not agitate it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not big on bedside manner, Doc.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doc gave him a look that he only smiled in reply to. “Go ahead. Ignore my advice. It’s not like I’m a medical professional or anything. Get out of here and darken someone else’s illicit doorstep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, I’ve got places to go, people to see!” He shrugged into the permanently loaned coat and shoes, his helmet tucked under an arm. The Doc had looked at him oddly when he’d insisted on keeping it, but otherwise hadn’t protested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you do. Probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>over-do </span>
  </em>
  <span>considering you’ve been here nearly two months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed and waved a bandaged hand. His fingers still didn’t feel right yet, and having them wrapped up tight lessened the off feeling. Even if he didn’t know anything about Doc, about why he helped him, why he was doing this, why he said illicit earlier…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. He told himself he didn’t know. He was a hero after all. In a fluid motion that was more muscle memory than focus, he put the helmet on his head and stepped out into the night of Gotham for the first time in months.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was Red Hood.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Doctor here doesn't have an official name, because he's not a major player and names weren't something Hood was completely aware of just yet, but in my head he's called "Dr Knotx." Blame my co-author Cat for that, as she pointed out that Doc acts like Knox from FMA.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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